June 15, 2002
Peter Pan Calls the Kettle Blue
I have taken fourteen Ibuprofen today, and not just because I wanted to get high. That was the valium and the pot.
Joke.
No, this morning I woke up and couldn't get out of bed. I could not move my head, not at all. And you'd be amazed how much you need your neck to sit up. So I got up way earlier than I would've liked and laid with a heating pad on my neck for an hour. Eventually it got so I could turn to the left and look forward without being in extreme pain, but I can say nothing for the right or leaning down of any sort.
So I sat, very still, on the couch and watched My Fair Lady.
Woo Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn. Woo Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins.
or, 'Enry 'Iggins. And he better just wait.
Norah Jones is bad ass. Take it from me, and, you know, some other people who might happen to own the record and enjoy it.
Work was a nightmare, and I wanted to walk out at about eight-thirty, nine o'clock. It didn't help that Robert was being his usual egomaniacal-managerial self and that eighty-five percent of the customers were absolute fuckwits. But hey, it's Argosy Casino. The kosmic, karmic shithole of the world.
The only good thing about today was the fact that the Star Trek Geek was on Beat the Geeks, and I was lucky enough to see the first fifteen minutes of the show on my break.
I bought my dad a box of candy and a nose hair clipper for Father's Day. No lie.
A comic made a good point today. For all you girls out there. They call Always 'Always.' As if they would call them 'Some of the Time.'
Only the girls will get it, or very, weirdly observant boys.
I should go to bed, to at least be mildly coherent for Coney Island tomorrow.
Will write upon return. Wish me luck, both in the fun department and the kissing cabinet.
Ha.
astera at 1:00 a.m.